


What Makes A Grey Warden

by whereismywarden (PearOh)



Series: Dragon Age - Warden Ana Surana - Sad Mages Worldstate [6]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Book: Dragon Age - The Calling, Circle of Magi, Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Grey Wardens, In Peace Vigilance Zine, Insecurity, Mage (Dragon Age) Origin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-10
Updated: 2020-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 11:54:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22196596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PearOh/pseuds/whereismywarden
Summary: Duncan recruits Surana, but the young elven mage is plagued with doubts and insecurities.
Relationships: Duncan & Female Surana (Dragon Age), Duncan & Fiona (Dragon Age)
Series: Dragon Age - Warden Ana Surana - Sad Mages Worldstate [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1475330
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4
Collections: Sad Mages Worldstate





	What Makes A Grey Warden

**Author's Note:**

> My piece for the Grey Warden Zine: In Peace, Vigilance. It was a great experience and I'm happy to have been a part of it.

Duncan hadn't visited the Tower of Magi in years — or even decades. He almost had, one year into his new commanding position, after an ogre attack on his party. The beast had seemingly come out of nowhere. They had failed to feel its strength amidst the swarm of darkspawn surrounding it. That day, Duncan had found himself wishing they'd had a mage healer travelling with them. But he had thought better of it upon returning to the surface. There had been no Blight at the time and the Order's relations with Ferelden had been — and still were — strenuous. There had been no need to add the Chantry to the short but growing list of organizations the Wardens had antagonized over the centuries.

There was a Blight now, however, and their forces were in dire need of mages if they were to have any hope of pushing back the oncoming horde. So Duncan had travelled to Kinloch Hold to recruit them personally. He found that the place had not changed much since his last visit. Mages still kept their heads down, trying not to draw the Templars' unwanted attention. Those same Templars still sneered at every single one of them, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. But then, Duncan had met Surana. Brazen and bold, she had stood face to face against the Knight-Commander, willing to accept any punishment he deemed appropriate for standing up for her friend.

The Right of Conscription allowed Duncan to recruit whomever he wanted into the Order, but even that had not stopped the templar from objecting to the young mage's recruitment.

“Mages are needed.  _ This _ mage is needed. Worse things plague this world than blood mages,” Duncan had told Greagoir as a mild apology.

It hadn’t taken long for his young recruit to pack her things afterwards. Duncan suspected she didn't have much to call her own, most of it being the Circle's property. She brought with her a staff, a few sets of robes and a small box which likely contained what little personal possessions she owned. It came as an advantage, all things considered, as travelling light would allow them to reach Ostagar much faster.

Surana was now bending over the edge of the small boat, her hand skimming lightly over the water, appearing unbothered by the icy wind whipping through her hair. She was humming a tune he did not recognize, a quiet and pleasant sound that would have warmed his heart if his mind wasn't so focused on the Blight. It took him a few minutes to realize this haunting melody was likely a Circle-created composition. Cut off from the rest of the world, mages developed their own culture, with arts, customs and beliefs unique to them.

The young woman had that look of awe on her face, the one he’d only ever seen on inquisitive children. She was not a child, Duncan reminded himself, she was a Grey Warden recruit, picked for her skills, courage, and loyalty. She had been willing to do whatever it took to protect her friend, and when faced with the consequences, she had kept her head high and accepted them without flinching. Those were qualities that would make her a good Warden. But that light in her eyes, that glimmer of hope, _this_ was what would make her a _great_ Warden. She was looking at the outside world for the first time in her life and she saw beauty. She saw something worth fighting for, worth protecting.

“Be careful, child,” the old ferryman cautioned with a smile. “You wouldn't want to fall overboard.”

“Oh, right! Of course.” She sat back on her seat, straightening herself. “Especially since I can't even swim.” She let out a gasp of panic and stared at Duncan with wide, nervous eyes. “Is it a problem if I don't know how to swim? Are you regretting your choice to make me a Grey Warden? Are you going to take me back to the tower?”

He chuckled softly. “Do not worry, I will not take you back to the Tower.” A wide smile stretched across her face, that light of happiness returning to her eyes. “There are no large bodies of water at Ostagar. And if the need ever arises, I am sure some of the other Grey Wardens will be glad to teach you.”

She sighed with relief. “Thank you, Ser.”

Duncan smiled kindly to her. “You are most welcome.” 

He suspected these potential swimming lessons weren't the only thing she was thankful for. Her freedom, for one thing. While the life of a Grey Warden was not an overly pleasant one, it had the advantage of being free of templars monitoring your every move. More importantly, she wouldn't have to spend the remainder of her days trapped inside a dark tower. And although some would still look down on her elven features, most people held the Grey Wardens in enough esteem to keep their mouths shut and treat her with a minimum of respect. It wouldn’t be much, but it would be something.

They made their way to Ostagar without further delay. The journey south remained rather uneventful in spite of the fact that Surana had never stepped out of the Circle before. It showed, sometimes, of course. She tired easily, he could see that in the way her eyes drooped in the hours after noon. She sat awkwardly on the horse, fidgeting on the saddle with discomfort. She was always grateful when they stopped to eat their lunch or make camp for the night. He once even caught her falling asleep behind him, her head resting heavily against his back. While he was partially to blame for her current condition — rising before dawn and often travelling for long periods after dark — she also had troubles sleeping at night, on the ground and in the cold. Yet, she never complained. She followed his orders dutifully, a fact that never failed to surprise him considering she had been ready to exchange blows with the Knight-Commander only a few days ago. Then again, Duncan had never given her any reason to distrust him.

She reminded him of Fiona, sometimes. Not because she was a mage or an elf — although he suspected those shared experiences contributed to their other similarities. No, it was the way she had stood up to Greagoir, her eyes boring into his, unflinching despite her mere five feet of height. His old friend had had that same fire burning within her, Duncan recalled. She never hesitated to speak her mind, no matter the rank of the person she was facing. In fact, the higher it was, the bolder she would be. Their old Warden-Commander would have attested to it, and so would have King Maric. Fiona's relationship with the latter had ended surprisingly well, all things considered. The former, though, not so much. But truth be told, Genevieve had been a different kind of beast that even Duncan had rebelled against after tiring of her constant abuses.

The burden of command weighed heavy on one's shoulders and he now understood her actions a little better. Still, he hoped to be a better commanding officer than she had ever been.

“Are you warm enough?” he asked Surana as they set up camp one night in a clearing along the Imperial Highway. She wore a wool coat over her robes, but it certainly wasn't thick enough to protect her from the biting winds of winter. Duncan wore heavy plates and he could still feel it freezing his bones. Twenty years in this country and he still could barely withstand its harsh weather.

A shy smile tugged at the corner of the girl's lips. “I'm quite all right. You don't need to concern yourself for me, Ser.”

He eyed her up and down. She was short, even for an elf, and lean. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. Definitely not enough meat on her bones to keep her warm. “Be honest with me. You have been sheltered your entire life. It would be more than natural if you were having a difficult time adjusting to the outside world.” He gave her a pointed look. “It would be bad, however, if you were to fall ill before we reached Ostagar. I need everyone in fighting condition for the coming battle.”

She shrugged nonchalantly, biting into a chunk of bread. “I think I have a natural resistance to cold temperatures. Even in the tower, I never needed as many layers of clothing as the others, and believe me, it can get very cold in that old fortress.”

Duncan chuckled, remembering the first time he'd come to Ferelden. The weather had been cold, but the Royal Palace had been colder. At the time, he had attributed the chillness to Maric's depressive state of mind. But as he had soon learned, Fereldan constructions weren't built to sustain harsh winters. This was why they all wore thick fur-lined clothes during the cold seasons.

“The First Enchanter thinks it has something to do with my natural affinity for elemental spells,” Surana continued explaining.

“A valuable gift. The darkspawn have often shown a weakness to fire.”

“Then I'll try to roast as many as I can,” she announced with playful excitement.

“Do you possess any other skills that you think might be useful in our fight against the darkspawn?” Duncan didn't want to put her on the spot — the girl was barely out of her apprenticeship, after all — but he had to ask, if only so he could assess her strengths and weaknesses, and prepare her for the field of battle.

Her face scrunched up as she thought about his question. “A friend taught me a basic healing spell. I never had the opportunity to use it though.”

“You soon may have to. The battlefield is a deadly and dangerous place. Healers will be some of our most precious assets in this war.”

She gazed into the fire, the flame dancing in her eyes. Biting her lower lip, she fidgeted on the log they had dragged close to the campfire for her to sit on. “Ser, if I may. Why me?” she asked, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. “Don't think I'm not grateful for the opportunity to prove my worth. But many of the mages in the tower are more experienced, more skilled than I am. You could have picked any one of them—”

“Skills can be taught. And if the First Enchanter is to be trusted, you are a fast learner.” She grimaced, visibly unconvinced. “I would not have recruited you and condemned you to a life of dangers if I did not believe you up to the task. You have proven to be resourceful and capable in a fight. You are determined and do not falter in the face of adversity. You have shown yourself to be willing to risk everything, including your own life, to protect your friend. We need people like you, people who are not afraid to make the sacrifices necessary to save others.”

She considered his words carefully for a moment. They both remained silent for a full minute before she spoke again. “Are there many mages among the Grey Wardens?”

“Not as many as we would hope. The Order does not wish to antagonize the Chantry so we are only allowed one mage recruit per Circle.  _ You _ are that mage, and as a matter of fact, you will be the first mage warden in Ferelden in a very long time." He gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “But if it is magical training you still worry about, I am certain the enchanters in the camp will be pleased to lend you aid.”

“Thank you, Ser,” she said, smiling back.

Every Blight had born its fair share of mage heroes, sometimes apostates and blood mages. The Chantry often tried to remove those from history, but the Grey Wardens remembered and honoured their brothers and sisters. They celebrated the scholars who had discovered the secrets of the Joining ritual; they praised the healers who braved the battlefield to rescue injured soldiers, and the fighters who stood in front of the darkspawn to protect the innocent; most of all, they revered those who had faced the Archdemons and had given up everything to save the world. The Grey Wardens shall never forget their sacrifices.

Surana soon went to sleep. Curled up under her blanket, she looked almost peaceful. Duncan couldn't remember the last time he'd had a restful night of sleep, devoid of darkspawn and Archdemon whispering at the edge of his mind. Closing his eyes, he concentrated all his senses on his surroundings. The darkspawn's presence was faint, indicating that they had not reached this area. Not yet at least. The Blight would spread — and it would spread fast — if their efforts at Ostagar failed to make a difference.

Which was why they needed to reach the army camp as soon as possible. If Duncan's estimations were correct, there was a strong possibility they might arrive tomorrow shortly before noon. This would only leave them a few days before the next battle to prepare for the Joining. It wasn't much, but it would have to be enough. The more wardens the army had in their ranks, the better their chances of success if the Archdemon finally appeared.

On nights like this, he missed Fiona the most. Thinking about her made him wish she were here with them. Maybe she could have scared the darkspawn right back into the Deep Roads. He had often thought of her lately. Every time his eyes landed on Alistair, in fact. And now he also had Surana to remind him of her. Duncan could tell the lad was going to like her. She had a good, strong heart. 


End file.
